


Two Step

by Nudebeme



Series: The Artist and Vilkas [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Frottage, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Snogging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nudebeme/pseuds/Nudebeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in love and alone proves too much for Vilkas, inspiring him to send a letter to the Bosmer that won his heart. And when they meet, it could decide the fates of their very lives and days to come. </p>
<p>sequel to 'Purity'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. love letters

**Author's Note:**

> Read "Purity" and "Muses and Mead" or this won't make a lick a' sense

First Morndas of Sun's Dawn- Morthal  
First Loredas of Sun's Dawn- Falkreath  
Second Fredas of Sun's Dawn- Riften  
Third Morndas of Sun's Dawn- Solitude

It went on and on like that. He couldn't remember the day he realized that the adventures seemed to coalesce and he never felt like he came home. Not that he had a home, but in that feeling his poems where full of sadness. That feeling one only knows once they realize home is but a distant memory. People here needed him now, he couldn't rest. If the Dragonborn wasn't there, innocent people would die. It wore the poet down thin to where he felt no need to carry his flute because no music played. Sometimes he'd listen to the silence and tears would come to his eyes.

This wasn't the life he wanted.

He was an elf all alone, bags slung over his back as he trudged through the tundra by Eastmarch. His horse had been killed. Bandits had a way of sneaking up on him when he least expected it... he felt too tired to weep over her corpse or just the pure frustration of it all. Maybe this Skyrim cold was freezing him over, but loss was routine and killing men to survive took a heavy toll on his heart. 

But there was a few things that kept him smiling. Those trips to Whiterun felt painfully long and the days to mere hours he had to spend there where blessed. The ones that took him in first at Jorrvaskr never failed to cheer his heart- even the bratty Dunmer Athis and Njada had grown on him. But it really wasn't about them, he couldn't lie. The reason why was truly because of Vilkas. The once-wolf was bitter and aloof, even now to most, but Gods, the Bosmer saw clear through that. When they reunited over drinks he was an open book, fully submissive to his violent self and clean when he's in the artist's company. He smiles, laughs, and is so damn beautiful in that Nordic way that he keeps a very big piece of the mer with him even after they bid goodnight. 

What they had was sublimely chaste. It wasn't about the sex when it came to Vilkas simply because there was none. And that simple fact made the Bosmer obsessed with him on those nights they could talk. Just simply share time with another soul, teach it and learn from it. He wanted Vilkas more than anything in the world and he was certain that the Nord felt the same way. 

But those nights where behind him. Weeks behind now becoming months, he forgot the smell of his musk and the feel of his lips when they kissed goodnight. 

It was getting dark as he approached Windhelm, that prison of a city. He wasn't welcome there even if Ulfric Stormcloak praised him so highly. That didn't matter because he still looked like an elf and it scared Nords, but he tried to look forward to something anyway as the guards came into sight. 

But there was something else, the rush of feet from behind him- He swung around, stumbling back not from wind but from the sight of a naked young man sprinting towards him. 

“Wait, your the Harbinger of the Companions! I have a message I need to deliver to you. An “Anonymous” paid quite a bit of gold to get this into your hands..oh! And there's this..” 

Along with the note was a small capped bottle, and through the handblown glass was something so minute he couldn't see. The Bosmer's heart felt an immediate dread fearing it was another mysterious death threat, a calling card to some madman cult, or another of the Dark Brotherhood types.. his heart grew weary but ignoring burdens came with a far heavier price than the joy of ignorance. 

“You must have traveled through that storm, I don't know how you Nords do it..” The Bosmer tried to ignore the fact the courier boy was as close to nude as humanly possible. Save for the hat. 

“Oh yes, and I can't divulge the sender of this letter. Sorry! Looks like that's it..Got to go.” The young boy watched the strange mer tear at the envelope and unveil a simple white scroll. He saw the boy turn to take off- “Wait! Just a moment..here” the elf dug through his copious pockets, snow catching on his eyelashes. The elf emptied two handfuls of gold coin into his purse “Go buy yourself a nice, warm coat, my friend.” 

At least it made him smile to make someone else smile today, despite the bitter weather, despite it being dark at all times under a snowy sky. 

The light was dim at the frosty Windhelm gates, but it would suffice. The Elf leaned back and turned his eyes to the bottle, carefully cracking it open. “Y'ffre..” He cursed, seeing what he least expected. A tiny black feather, nothing more. It shimmered like oil against the light, as dark as coal. It reminded him of...

He turns to the page. 

_“It was from your words and nothing but the sweetest form of misery that this letter comes to you._  
Words of confession are wracking against my mind as these days go on,  
and through ink and not tears I shed in your name has brought me relief  
That you may soon read this and know my intentions. 

_No words or prose this warrior could write would truly compare to what you've done to my heart, daydreaming one. One with eyes like night, one with ears delicate yet sharp as a knife's edge._  
Your presence on me is so clear now, unclouded by curse or damnable dream.   
Without you, something inside me grows cold." 

Vilkas. Memory rushes back into his chilled mind, talk of muses and hopeful flirts. Suddenly the ice and the blasting wind seemed ignorable. Breath is sucked quick from his chest, words carved by quill looked beautiful and careful- something written by a broken man. His heart felt like it was on fire at the realization that Vilkas had finally called out to him. He needed to know more.

_“The distance fate sets between us these days has made me grow anxious, unable to clear my mind of you._  
What wonders have you discovered? What suffering has come to you that I could not ease?   
I pray for the day you return and you stay, or I follow at your side that I might know peace 

_It seems the late hours are growing longer, where once this man knew only wicked, empty slumber_  
Now has become endless hours of yearning, an undefined aching without you beside me  
My soul wonders how lovely you're growing day by day, though I know it seems impossible to think of you imperfect long before we first met eyes. 

_But my pining for you has not been purely chaste, I must admit..._

_Pleasure engulfs my senses at the mere thought of touching you once more, succumbing to...”_

Oh. Something hot blossomed up in the mer's throat, and maybe somewhere else, as he skimmed the next line over. If he was going to read this, it had better be somewhere nice and warm..and after a glass of wine. By the gods he wasn't going to let the vicious storms of Skyrim ruin this for him- a loveletter from Vilkas? That needed all the attention he could give it. Quickly, he shoved the note into a breast pocket and took for the towering stone jail that was Windhelm. 

How he wanted to keep reading, to know what has been lurking in the tortured Nords heart for all this time apart, knowing that it wasn't the mer alone who bore the burden of heartache. The city was miserably bitter as he made his way into Candlehearth Hall, spilling coin on the table to just get himself a jug and a warm seat by the fire. A Lute was being strum arrhythmically in the distance by a feeble elf maid, there was clanking of pewter on wood and these where the sounds of a busy pub- Damn, alone all the time yet solitude is all he was seeking now. 

The elf gulped furiously at his drink, fingers unwrapping the note and reading it from the start. This time, he'd go the whole way.

_“Pleasure engulfs my senses at the mere thought of touching you once more, succumbing to your love again and again until the night comes when you lay beneath me and I may come into you. I yearn to make you quake and shiver like pines in the wind the way you have done to me. Only the gods know how much I yearn for that day.”_

The elf must have looked a fool right now, his legs crossing and his body wriggling about in his seat as he grew more and more flustered. Heat pooled somewhere about his chest and legs, teeth and tongue worrying his own lip as he read on, thoughts roiling to life of Vilkas keeping to his word, of their bodies together again. He imagined Vilkas wanting to take him, and gods that's what he really wanted right now. To be bound together tight and fucking like their lives depended on it. He caught unwanted stares as he drank and read on.

_“But only if you would have me. For what is this hapless knight to the mer born in The god's blood?_  
Who could have any soul he wished, unbroken by loss or untainted by curse?  
But this soul is yours and yours alone, have it any way you will.   
I can only hope I find myself by your side  
So long as there is a fire of love in my heart,   
there is a flame that fuels my blade to honor and preserve you. 

_Please answer this warriors wanting plea, and let me know at last if I should find myself at your side, in love, or suffer to follow your shadow until the day my heart can let go.”_

The Bosmer reached for the nearest scrap of paper he could and tore into it, an inked quill scratching along feverishly. He already knew his response and he'll be damned if it doesn't get back to Vilkas as soon as possible. 

It's shockingly simple, and absolutely mysterious _“Eldergleam Sanctuary, Middas.”_. It was a stretch to think that Vilkas could make it there on time, but he knew the Nord would try his damned hardest to get there. No, He would be there. If it was one thing the once-wolf was, it was dedicated. And words like these, gods, they don't come from a man who doesn't have true passion coursing through him like hot fire. 

A bedraggled teen putted about at the bar, looking for work in the dead of this winter, giving solemn eyes to the non-gray elf that approached him. “Here, boy, I've got this letter that needs to get to The Companions in Whiterun as soon as possible. I'll pay you 100 up front and another three waits for you if the letter makes it there.”

The boy was out the door before he could properly thank him- and the Bosmer heaved a huge sigh, silently praying that it reaches Vilkas in time. That was one headache off his mind knowing that he may see him soon enough. 

But there where other aches he could no longer ignore, especially tonight, right now, feeling the unyielding heat in his core demanding all of his attention. His mind wandered back to the note in his pocket, and he threw coin down on the table for another flask of wine, and the farthest room from the bar. He couldn't get there fast enough, poetry and erotic words could send him cumming in his pants and it needed to happen now. 

The fire was already burning and his hands where already fighting at the catches of his armor, and the knots of leather strips. He sighs in relief feeling the bare skin of his thighs against the cool air, goosebumps on his tan flesh warmed over by the fire as he sat before it, legs spread. Uncorking the wine, he let it join the heat already pooled in his stomach which quivered with want at his own touch. He goes over the words again, eyes hooded and a free hand massaging his thigh.. he could imagine the Nord's handsome voice making love to those words while he wrote them, wishing for his company and wondering what Vilkas must be feeling for him. He couldn't shake the thought of fucking Vilkas the second he meets him, of all the wonderful things he'd love to do to him, or to have done in return.. When he started stroking himself he forgot but he was hard as a rock in his free hand, bouncing his exquisitely sensitive length in his grip before the fire. 

He thought of Vilkas' mouth, his fine white teeth scraping against the head of his cock, he mimicked with a rough grip, pumping himself up and down until he was holding his breath and arching in his wooden chair. The love letter drops from his hand and the elf groans hard, holding out his thigh and squeezing his sack while he twisted and turned searching for his release. Thick brown dreadlocks fell from about his shoulders and hung freely as his head threw back, mouth agape. 

He thought of Vilkas laying under him, taking the young Nord until the familiar sound of his pained cries became those of want. The artist is open-mouthed and stifled silent, his thighs open wide to accept his oncoming release and ankles hooked around the legs of the chair. 

It wasn't until the elf remembered just how Vilkas wailed as he came did he come too, sweat beading at his temples and his hand stilling as ropes of semen jetted out and into the fire with a sizzle, and leaking down his knuckles. He gasped a breath, his black eyes watching his stomach as it quivered and flexed until he was sated. 

Now he felt sweetly tired, eyes near to closing as he watched his cum web between his fingers. The blood flushed away from his throbbing ears, sounds returning to him and suddenly it seemed just empty and silent. His Nordic voice seemed an echo now, now there was just exhaustion. 

The rest of his clothes went and he curled up in his rented bed, and it was a steady equality of paranoia of a slit throat in his sleep and comfort in Vilkas' words that kept the mer awake despite his fatigue. He was tired of being alone and afraid of whether or not tomorrow would be his last day, even if sometimes he wished he would just die to end all these trials of his soul. If it meant finding comfort in a man who knows no comforts, he's willing to give him and Vilkas an honest try. Anything would be better than what life is showing him now, and letting a lover into his world might be the only thing left to try.

Mara, he hopes that letter gets to him. Hopes he can see him again.


	2. 2

Middas. Skyrim was unbearably cold this time of the year, and the trip had been vicious even for a man who'd never known a sweltering day. Vilkas tied his horses reigns against a tree and looked up, eyes peering with curious concern towards the foreboding cave entrance. Well this was the way in apparently, he'd rushed so fast to Eastmarch he hardly had time to consider researching the location on the scrap of a letter he received. Hot, moist air billowed out from the caves mouth, Vilkas thought it was unusual, and like descending the throat of a great beast as he made his way down the narrow passage. Why would his Harbinger want him here? Vilkas mindlessly bit his knuckle, suddenly blasted by wind that carried the faintest wisp of life from below. 

“By Ysmir!” Vilkas gasped to himself, jaw dropped unashamedly as the tunnel opened up to what he could only describe as a giant hollow in the mountain, beams of sunlight caught droplets of water as they fell like storms from the falls above. The rainbows it made seemed to pale in comparison to the flowers that blanketed the moist soil below his feet as he stepped out into the Sanctuary. For eyes accustomed to snow and ice, it was...beautiful to say the least. The gears turned in his head, seeing the majestic tree that stood sentry over the cavern.. The Bosmer chose this place for a reason and the repressed optimist inside Vilkas begged him to believe it was intended. This place was the definition of the picturesque fantasy that his Harbinger always went on about in his tales. The dark Nord felt small in the middle of the worshiping grounds, and once the revelry faded it was nothing but him, the bees, and his own worry. 

An hour of waiting turned into two, then more.. There was still no sign of the elf. Nord worshipers came to bask in Kynareth's bounty while Vilkas found himself pacing back and forth under a willow, his stomach in knots. He glanced over the torn paper in his pocket, just a few short words. It was so unlike the wordy elf. Did he push their relationship too far? Vilkas was a natural worrier and a large part of him was beginning to feel a fool for writing him that letter in the first place.. Gods, he's a wreck. The Artist always did have that kind of control over him..

 

~~

The last few days had been hell for the Bosmer, who pulled away his hood even in driving snow to the sight of a lean, black horse tied to a pine. Yes this was the place, and that was Vilkas' horse no doubt.. The elf's heart raced at the mere thought- months of waiting, yearning, they're all going to come to an end..hopefully. If Vilkas really was inside waiting for him, then he was going to need to be ready. His hand patted down his cold chest, searching through breast pockets for the little slip of paper that kept him smiling for the past few days. He unfurled it, warmth in his inky black eyes as he reread it. Of course it was completely memorized, this loveletter, but now it could finally happen. 

_“Please answer this warriors wanting plea, and let me know at last if I should find myself at your side, in love, or suffer to follow your shadow until the day my heart can let go.”_

That's it. His heart was ready, more now than ever. The Bosmer clutches the letter in his hand and descends down, through darkness, already attuned to the grand tree and life that lived just beyond the rocks. He'd thought about it through and through, his own mind suffered with doubts, but the Bosmeri where not a people to let love slip by so easily. Not when it felt as right as it did with this passionate Nord, a man like that is worth fighting for. He can only think that as he came into sight of the sanctuary, and not far beyond that the slim figure of Vilkas, turned away. With the need fresh in his heart, he bounded towards him.

The Nord didn't notice him among the roars of waterfalls and the pleading calls of the midday birds. He was sick of waiting but he'd stay as long as he could-and the artist was worth waiting for. Worry was painted thickly on his face just as the ink around his eyes. The fates just deemed him to turn around at the perfect moment, his heart being seized with an unknowing terror as he catches sight of the Bosmer walking towards him, note in hand. Gods- what was he going to say, what was he- 

Vilkas couldn't get a word in before the elf crashes into him, arms coming around him, holding the Nord breathlessly still as the elf kisses him so deeply it makes the Nords knees weak. Their noses pressed tight, warmth and scent so fresh and heady- it made both moan aloud in relief, to finally touch again. Vilkas' arms came up and eagerly rested along his broad back, eyes slipping shut as his stubbled lips get ravished hungrily by the Mer. 

Worshipers of Kynareth watched from afar as the two men clung tight for those few moments, basking in each other's presence and clinging tight. The Nords' eager hands stroked the tan pair of arms up and down, feeling the elf's dark stubble burn his face- a feeling he so yearned for. There was so much fire in his embrace, and Vilkas didn't want any held back.

He thought about the letter that was still in the artists' clutches. About his proposal... to be more than companions in honor. Looking at the smile that suddenly came to the mer's face, it was clear now.

He assumed that was a yes. 

“You wrote this?” The elf asked seemingly with disbelief, it made Vilkas' otherwise scowling face bright to remember that voice. The accent thick with exotic twists, how it felt against his own chest. 

“Aye..” He was holding the elf possessively, but it felt warm in his arms. It was something he'd not known in so long, and nowhere in Skyrim felt cozier. He needed more, he needed all of what is before him. Determination was suddenly in his eyes, a firm hand grasping Vilkas' and pulling the taller man into the shade.

“Come with me.” He says, pulling Vilkas by the hand like lovers do as he searched for the perfect spot in the sanctuary. Far from curious eyes, a little haven of their own. Vilkas stumbles behind him as they both make a leap over a babbling creek, hearing the surprised Nord openly laugh at the elf's determination. Damn, he was already growing excited..

Winter sun beat down on their armor once the Bosmer seemed satisfied with a small clearing of grass, shadows catching on the planes of his face from a rustled Willow above them. The lovestruck elf turned and gripped Vilkas' wrist tightly, pulling the Nord towards him as they stumbled back on the grass, grunting and hearing the creaking of leather. Their weapons are cast aside, for now, they had no lives to save but each others.

“I've waited for you” Vilkas allows himself to stare at the elf below him, being pulled tight into his arms as they begin to touch and roll, smooth wet grass below them being flattened under their weights. Chestplates came undone, gauntlets tossed, The elf sighed in appreciation to feel Vilkas' warm hands stroke his clothed body and his eager lips at his jaw.

Kissing Vilkas was like taming a wildcat, so fierce and his passion all-consuming. The Nord sucked, bit and moaned against his lips, grinding his body against the elf with such want it made the artist believe that Vilkas couldn't control himself- he didn't know how to take his time. And by the gods, the elf loved it. Bosmeri canines raked along his neck, pleased to hear the faintest of whimpers pass his young muses' throat. The mere sound alone made his hips buck instinctively into Vilkas' receptive thighs, eager to wring every last mewl and cry before he's done. 

The elf's mouth was adorned with reddened bites from Vilkas' vigorous love, tilting his head back to enjoy the feeling of hands wringing through his dreads, allowing him to indulge. He felt wanted this way, being rolled onto his back, peeling away the wolfskin of the man's armor. Something hard and demanding was rubbing against the elf's thigh, and with every little grind Vilkas would shudder and quake.

“Vilkas” The elf whispers, heated but concerned. He received a moan in response, long fingers reunited with his hips, black eyelashes fluttering along his jawline while Vilkas moved against him. 

Something itched in the artists' mind, and try as he might to quell it, it grew and grew until it blossomed into worry. He eased the Nords' face away from his own, seeing it flushed red with excitement. Vilkas looked beautiful, he really did, but seeing such a man reminded him of the heart beneath it. The bitter, fragile heart.

“Vilkas..” 

“Nngh?” 

“Is this what you really want?” A fingertip felt along a stubbled jawline, looking into ice blue eyes that shone only for him. Vilkas frowned, silent and confused. Was there something wrong? He looked at the damage he'd already done to the Elf's face, holding himself back for their sake. 

“This? You mean, you? Harbinger?” Why wouldn't he want this? It's everything he ever wanted, he just didn't know it until now.

“This, as in, to love me... a man. Not even a Nord.” He hoped Vilkas wasn't a lovestruck young fool, eager to please and ignorant of his future. The world was a dangerous place, and life was short for a Nord. The pressures on the Bosmer's mind where great and he didn't need breaking a heart on his list. 

Vilkas didn't need a moment to think.

“My heart is yours, Dragonborn. And keep it you shall no matter what roads we may take.”


	3. Chapter 3

A breathless moment went by, then two. Vilkas was grabbed by the collar and pulled in for a kiss that made him feel invincible. The mer's body rose to meet his, arching off the grass, a pair of artistic hands guiding a warrior's to pull his shirt up and off his body. Vilkas' followed, his cropped black hair hanging over his forehead as the mer fought with knotted strings and buckles. 

Vilkas writhed under a pinning weight, gasping and shivering with anticipation at the sight of the elf nearly naked before him. He felt the elf take his time to roughly map every square inch of Vilkas' torso, sucking and raking his teeth along the bony edges of his hips, the suppleness under his arms and down his waist. The touch was not gentle but by the gods he didn't need to be, there was raw passion in the artist's rough grip- he felt wanted. More now than ever before. 

“ _Katle ma, kande manani_ ” The buckles felt heavy in his now-swollen ears while he kissed Vilkas' wrists, hands, the elf's lips trailing down Vilkas' slender legs. “Beautiful one..” 

He went red and Vilkas had to say it. “and I have always found you the beautiful one. If you think that you being a man changes how I feel about you, you're mistaken.” Nords fell in love fast and hard, such was their ways and there was no regard in Vilkas' life between the sexes. The dragonborn was beautiful through and through, as desirable as any fair maiden. He found the curved scars, the wild hair and hard muscles to be lovely. 

The Bosmer was stopped dead in his tracks, and quite at the funny angle from Vilkas' perspective as one leg was lifted up, the soles of his feet being kissed. Those white legs where spread, a cotton cloth draped over the mass that hid at the center of his hips being tugged at and down his thighs until with a sigh, Vilkas was free. The moist, warm air felt good, but not nearly as good as the way the elf hungrily eyed his solid cock against his hip.   
The elf mindlessly counted back the time where he'd last had something like this... Long and lean, much like the rest of Vilkas. How he remembers stroking it, and seeing Vilkas' body twist in desire.

It was finally here, what he's been craving like water to a parched mouth. Vilkas' narrow, luscious hips where meant for holding tight and fucking. They rested in his work-worn hands, rolling to meet his palms before they delved down between his white thighs, drawing out each breath as a shuddered gasp in Vilkas' need for friction.

Prose came to mind. Words like “lover” and “mate” wrapped around his mind just as his grip wrapped around the Nord's cock. He could go on and on about him, take his time and bring them both to a sweet release but the Nord was thrusting up against him, his plea coming out as a whine.

“Harbinger!” The artists hands stilled, holding tight. “I've been waiting for you, since I got your letter.” Vilkas stared at his own cock then into his eyes, grabbing at the elf's wrist and urging him to stop.

“Mmm? And why would that be?” The smirking Bosmer was kissing his chest, his hawkish nose in dark hair. 

“..To feel all of you.” Vilkas sounded like he was confessing some sin.

The Bosmer laughed, and realized he was still young enough to feel his heart flutter like a fool. “Then why don't you have me? Make me 'quake and shiver like pines in the wind'?” Somehow hearing that made Vilkas' cock darken in anticipation, prodding eagerly at the elf's waist. He could have the elf? The one he's been crazy for since their first days? He grabbed the artist and flipped him onto his bare back, rough and possessive.

“Hhah!” There where teeth at his tan neck, something slick and warm tracing his collarbone. His underclothes feverishly pulled down, being exposed and embraced at the same time. He could hear Vilkas growl in delight at the sight of the elf's modest but lovely member.. The pale scars caressing his abdomen. Vilkas thought it was perfect. He dragged his lips over them with a fierce hunger and explored each part. “Yeah..” There was still wolf in him, after all. 

He let Vilkas explore, and the Nord let himself discover what the wolf and pride never let him do before. The elf welcomed Vilkas to sit between his spread legs, seeing the concentrating look on his handsome face. If he could kiss him, he would, but-

He stifles a sudden sharp cry, wincing at the second he could feel Vilkas run his fingertips across his hole. The Nord moaned, sucking on his lip and teasing that little bit of him again. He spread those thighs, and touched him again, the pads of his work-worn fingers feeling his velvety flesh. Each graze wrenched a yelp and twitch from the supine lover, finding the courage and burying his index finger inside him. The mer shakily laughed and threw an arm over his eyes.

“Sorry!” He gasps with a smile “It has been a long, long while.” He admits, feeling his pucker breached again “..So sensitive.” Not that Vilkas minded, seeing the mer he considered his hero writhing about at his touch was more than wonderful. Suddenly, he felt like he could play.

“Any other sensitive places I should be aware of?” Vilkas probed again, burying himself up to the knuckle and feeling his slick heat, being constricted between his sturdy legs. 

“The ears!” Was all he could say, comically so. Vilkas reached up to touch one only to be slapped away by a quick hand. He always wanted to touch them..

“Y'ffre stay away from them or I wont last a damn second more!” Vilkas sighed with exasperation, his index finger being joined by more and probing deeper until the elf was sweating. The thought of setting his Harbinger on the edge of release so easily made Vilkas feel so strong and proud. He never thought he'd be having this much fun having sex.

The elf came prepared, the lovers grinding together despite his struggle to reach his travel pack for the flowery oil bottle. As he popped it open, Vilkas could only smile. Even the oil the mer used smelled like his incense. He held it in his palm while the Elf seemingly had a change of heart.

“Just wait.” He wanted a look at Vilkas' cock up close, lowering his head and tasting the large crown of his member, drawing a whine from Vilkas. His lips descended each inch, tongue working and throat tightening- The elf looked beautiful sucking his cock. It was wet and shining in the evening sunlight, the elf pulling away only to sneak back in and taste him again. Dreads spilled around his shoulders and tickled Vilkas' stomach until neither could take it anymore. 

Shivers run up and down the Bosmer's spine as he eases himself onto his elbows and knees, his firm ass in the air and invitingly spread. 

Oh gods. Vilkas suddenly was caught in between two distressing thoughts.. Was he going to be able to satisfy him? What if he couldn't last? The sight before him almost seemed too much- Vilkas always wanted more experience fucking men, he thought they where so gorgeous and the sight of the elf's hanging cock wasn't helping.

“Vilkas” He moans, looking back with a smile that was hot but moreover, sweet. Only now did the Nord realize he was on his knees motionless behind the elf, staring down the planes of his wonderful back and a concerned frown on his face. “It'll be alright, I want you so badly I could care less what you do with me.” 

His frown vanished. Vilkas guides his cock to the neat brown hole before him, getting oiled and using the warm head to rub and smear it along his entrance. The Bosmer shuddered and ground back against him, yet his fingers where clenched tightly and ready to ball into fists. He feels Vilkas, a little at first and then within a few moments it was already too much. It's utter pain, Vilkas holding his breath and easing his weight into the elf's receptive ass until with a pop his tip is buried. The elf reached back, straddling two fingers around Vilkas' shaft to feel him pull out and then back in, his pain laden behind a smile. 

He openly gulped a cry with every thrust, A panting Vilkas running his hands thoughtlessly along the elf's sides and steadying his hips- gods it was impossible not to start fucking him. The Bosmer's hole was tighter than anything he's ever bedded, and the control he had over the elf below him was intoxicating. 

And the elf loved it in return. It hurts though, it's a stabbing pain and it hurts and hurts but the elf knew he'd give way, choosing to listen to Vilkas' panted breath and how he loomed over him to gulp back a moan. 

And soon the pain was gone, the elf reaching back to stop his companion and roll onto his back. The elf beckoned him forward, pumping his own cock and smiling so beautifully it hurt. He could see the elf's hole pink from the rut and he couldn't stop himself from coming into him again, and this time the elf moaned sweetly. 

Face to face, Vilkas inhales deeply the scent of the flowers, of sex and dusk. He got the full realization of what he's actually doing now- it wasn't a dream. But he feels like he is living one, fucking an exotic, perfect mer with bits of grass in his dreads and paint on his lip. The Dragonborn. The elf stared back, his brow knitted and he's quiet while receiving Vilkas over and over again. He held his own leg open while he stared, adams apple bobbing in his neck with each shivered yelp as he calmed down around the cock inside him. 

He gives way, and they slam up against each other like rabbits in a field, sweating and gasping into each other's mouths. The Nord's jagged rhythm brought the elf teetering close to the edge only to come down again after a faltered thrust, Vilkas concentrating deeply on driving the elf home while he wriggles and flexed along with Vilkas. He was tugging himself wildly, leaking into his hand and trying to bring himself over before Vilkas could spend- but it didn't seem to get to that point. Vilkas looked like he wouldn't last a moment more.

“Come on, come on!” He breathes out, sitting up and having the Nord pull him up into his lap. Their arms hooked around each others like vices, pressure and heat around Vilkas' cock making him stutter and moan aloud. “Look at me, Vilkas. Come for me.” He demanded, and Vilkas did as he was told. His short cries turn into a shaky moan, cumming deep inside the Bosmer. The elf looked as if he was absolutely desperate for his seed, writhing and touching Vilkas all over while he felt the warmth spread into him. There was something primate about it, something that mating beasts did in the wilds. 

His cock was still thick inside him, pulsing and well spent. The Nord's vision came back into place and he lay them down, seeing the elf pierced by him and his chest dry. He...didn't come.

“Hhahh...you didn't..” Vilkas felt his heart squeeze for a lifetime of a second. 

“I'm so close,” The elf spread his bare leg and moved against Vilkas, even as he softened. Vilkas thought to climb down and suck him, but felt fingers wrench through his hair and a hand grab his wrist. “Stay by me..”

Vilkas wasted no time in getting his hand around the elf's shaft, hard mer fingers wringing through his hair and pulling his face close. Vilkas blindly nuzzled his face, listening to their panting and beating his fist up and down on the artist to make him spasm and thrust- it was growing dark and swollen in his hand and weeping down his fingers.   
Heat radiated from the elf's narrow ears, throbbing and deafeningly loud. When the Nord's stubbled lips found them, eagerly licking and kissing the shell, that's when they both knew he'd come. Choppy, whined noises erupted from his throat, feeling Vilkas' tongue cradling his thick silver earrings, his fist stilling over his member that shot ropes somewhere between them. The Knight growled and reveled, heat blossoming in quite a different way in his chest, finding joy while he weakly tugged at the still-thick cock. 

Buried inside, he could feel the elf's passage contracting again and again until he was silent, nude arms wrapping around the Nords back to embrace him weakly. Vilkas kissed him like he's yearned to all this time, holding him the way lovers do in tales. The artist was satisfied and smiling, absolutely deaf to the outside world or Vilkas' mumbles.. All he could hear was a high pitched ringing and the sound of his own heart.. damn, he came hard. 

Sound returned to him, yet they remained unspoken. They separated with a sigh, laying beside the other and eying the damage- Vilkas was so unchained he left the elf with battered lips and neck. He fingered the bruises, eyes opened just enough to delight in his handiwork. “I can't seem to help myself,” Vilkas started, the Bosmer staring back at him in utter satisfaction. “Just thinking about you drives me wild, and to see you so close..to have you.. it was..”

He sounded like he was apologizing. The mer held the back of his lovers head and remembered to kiss him “Too much? Mmm.. We have plenty of time to perfect our art.” And speaking of, Vilkas' stubbled neck was milky white and a clean canvas for his own addition. He lunged the small distance forward and Vilkas cried out as he felt warm lips and carnivorous teeth scraping at his neck. 

He sucked and sucked, the Nord wriggling below him and wrapping strong arms around the mer while they groaned for each other. It became pain until the artist pulled away and wiped his lips, grinning at the dark bruise below his jaw. Vilkas shuddered while he looked up to him, a whimpered noise of confusion.

“You're mine, Vilkas.” 

 

The Nord couldn't make heads or tails of what he should be feeling now; was it victory? relief? anxiety? All of these thoughts crashed through his mind and above all he could feel the submission in his heart before the elf who'd tamed his wild soul and showed him what it was like to indulge. Of all the emotions he could think of, he just smiled. 

“You don't know how happy you've made me” It was sweet, and even moreso unusual to hear those words come from a man who was never happy to begin with. It made the elf smile and remember that old feeling.

“And I'm just getting started.”


End file.
